For the Taking
by bamftastik
Summary: *MA/NSFW* Isabela/Fenris... While the world is busy being in peril, the companions are able to steal quiet moments of their own.
1. Chapter 1

"Well, look who it is." Leaning an elbow on the table, Varric nodded toward the door.

The Hanged Man was more crowded than usual, but even the most studiously averted eye would not miss the elf skulking in the entryway. Fenris carried his conspicuousness with a strange sort of pride, simply one more weight heaped upon his already taut and stiffening shoulders. Catching his eye, Isabela grinned.

As the elf approached, Varric kicked a chair out from beneath their table. "Finally come down from Hightown to mingle with the unsavory sorts?"

Isabela turned as he sat, crossing her legs to rest a boot between his knees. Fenris smirked, his narrowed eyes following the length of leather and straps with a bemused sort of surprise.

She pursed her lips. "And what is it that you all day in that big, lonely mansion?"

"Create an aura of mystery to unsettle the neighbors."

"Hah! The elf told a joke! Will wonders never cease?" Varric filled another mug from their bottle, but Fenris waved it away.

"Our brooding warrior doesn't drink, Varric."

"No. I simply do not drink _here_."

Isabela chuckled, leaning to rest a hand on his arm. "That's right. There must be quite the wine cellar beneath that house. Empty bottles everywhere as I remember."

"If you are going to reveal all my secrets, I won't invite you over again."

"Whoa. Hey now." The dwarf held up a hand but his eyes glittered with curiosity.

"I simply used some contacts to settle a tax matter for him." Isabela flopped back in her chair, dropping her leg under the table as she folded her arms. "How utterly boring."

Fenris only smiled, lowering his brows as he leaned heavy on an elbow.

After a moment, Varric sighed. "So where do you suppose they went this time? Hawke and Anders and Aveline?"

"Helping the Starkhaven boy, so I hear."

Isabela looked sideways at Fenris. "Ooh. I can't say that I blame her. Nice eyes, that one."

"Planning on making a necklace?"

"Don't be jealous." She took a long drink. "It's not as though Hawke can see past the end of Anders' staff anyway."

Varric grinned. "Now who's jealous?"

"The secrets, the loaded gazes... they can be intriguing for a time, but they are oh so tiring." She came to her feet slowly, stretching as she took up her mug. "I much prefer to skip right to the fun bits. I see something I want and I take it."

"So you say." Fenris smirked but kept his eyes on the table, deliberately avoiding her gaze.

With a wink for Varric, Isabela plopped down on the elf's lap and propped her boots on the table. She took a long sip, watching him over the rim of her cup.

"And on that note, I think I hear Bianca calling me."

"Finish your drink." There was little invitation in the elf's words, his eyes holding fast to Isabela's as he snarled. But he made no move to remove her.

"Hm. Awkward."

"So tell me..." She trailed a finger along the neck of Fenris' armor. "How far down do the markings go?"

"That's it? That is your best attempt?"

"If I thought you were worthy of my best, you would know it. This is merely a point of curiosity."

"And you thought that it would work?"

She tilted her head. "It has before."

"That I do not doubt."

Across the table, Varric set his mug on its head. "There. All finished. And I'd say it's time for bed."

"Agreed." Fenris rose to his feet, leaving Isabela to catch her balance against the table or be thrown to the floor. "I simply did not want to see you waste your drink. Such fine spirits are hard to come by."

"You keep this humor thing up and I'll have to alert the Chantry, tell them to put it on the calendar."

The two shared a nod before turning away - Varric for the stairs and Fenris for the door. Folding her arms, Isabela stared after them both. "You still owe me a game, Varric."

"Maybe tomorrow, sweetheart. Suddenly I'm bushed."

She sniffed, scowling at his back until he disappeared.

"Are you coming?"

Turning, she found Fenris leaning still in the doorway, watching her with a knowing smirk.

"Oh, absolutely."

They did not make it two paces beyond the Hanged Man before she grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him back against the wall. He responded slowly, almost maddeningly so, before pulling back to look at her.

"Hm."

"'Hm?' I have to admit that's not entirely the reaction I was hoping for."

"And do you always get what you hope for?"

"Generally, yes."

His eyes were fixed beyond her, his nod indicating a pair of gawking refugees. Laughing, Isabela took him by the collar, hauling him almost bodily into the nearest alley. His lips found hers now, his arms snaking low to crush her to him.

But again he tilted his face away, chuckling beneath his breath.

"What?"

"The dwarf and I had a bet. About whether you wear anything beneath your... dress." His hand tensed where it rested against her bottom. "It seems I have my answer. I should go and tell him."

"You will tell him nothing."

"Exactly."

She leaned close to nibble at his chin, but his hands wrapped now around her arms, holding her at a distance.

"There is... something I should tell you."

"Now? The whole brooding-with-a-dark-past thing works for you - _trust me_ - but do we have to do this _now_?"

He seemed to consider it, staring down at her for a long moment. He chuckled suddenly, shaking his head with something almost like relief. "...No. No, we do not."

"Good."

Again his lips found hers - licking, sucking, biting. His hands, too, seemed to be everywhere - no longer timid, no longer gentle - as they slipped behind her thighs and drew her legs around him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Fenris? Are you home?"

Hawke pushed open the door, stepping across the threshold to cast her eyes about. It was unlike the elf not to greet her, to leave the entryway unguarded. She supposed he might be out; there was no reason to expect him to simply wait here until she needed him. But why then was the door unlocked?

"Fenris?"

"Hawke." He appeared on the landing above her, naked to the waist and hastily hitching a sheet around him.

She could not help but stare. "Wow. Those markings really are beautiful."

He smirked, chuckling with a slow shake of his head.

"Aren't they, though?" The figure appeared behind him, moving slow and swaying to run a hand along his arm. Grinning down at Hawke, she leaned her elbows on the banister.

"_Isabela?_"

She wore not a stitch of clothing, giving an exaggerated yawn as she stretched. Fenris did his best not to smile as he glanced sideways at her, but Hawke could do nothing to hide the burning in her cheeks.

"Wow. I didn't know that you two were... I'll just be going."

"What is that under you arm?" Fenris took a few steps down the stairs, turning to glance at Isabela over his shoulder. "Go put on some clothes."

She pretended to pout, but disappeared back into the bedroom.

Hawke stopped, already making for the entryway. "It's... a book. I thought that you might want it." She dropped it into Fenris' hands.

"A book?"

"Written by Shartan. The elf that helped Andraste free the slaves."

His brows drew low as he scowled. "Slaves are not taught to read."

"Oh. You... Well, it's never too late to learn."

"Or I could read it to you, if you like." Isabela appeared again on the landing behind them. She had draped a blanket round her shoulders, but it plunged low, only highlighting that which had been exposed before.

Fenris pinched shut his eyes, perhaps embarrassed at being overheard, but his lips twitched affectionately as she moved to his side and took the book from his hands.

"Hm. I do love a good story. Do you think there're any steamy bits?"

"Isabela. I need to speak with Hawke for a moment."

"Mm? Of course you do." She looked up from ruffling the pages to fix Hawke with narrowed eyes. "Just watch those mage-loving hands, Hawke."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Isabela." She grinned, watching the other woman disappear back up the stairs. When she was certain that she was out of earshot, her grin only broadened. "So you and...?"

"Don't." But still he smiled.

"Is this what you wanted to talk to me about? Or is there something else?"

Fenris sighed, moving to a nearby statue to run his fingers idly through the dust. "No... and yes. I have made inquiries into what Hadriana said."

"Hadriana? I thought that you didn't believe her."

"I did not. But I have begun to remember... things about my past."

"Really? Like what?"

"It is hard to say. The memories are fleeting. They come swelling, terrifying and for one moment I remember everything."

"Just one moment? And what brought this on? I mean, why now...?"

His brows drew low, the tired smirk returning as he held her eye.

"_Oh._ One... moment. With the swelling."

He snorted a laugh.

But Hawke folded her arms. "Tell me you're not using Isabela to get your memory back."

"Is it possible to use such a woman?" He turned away with a sigh. "I do not know. I do not think so."

"Because that would make this is just a whole new kind of weird. And it's weird enough already."

"I am well aware. But I was merely asking for your help in tracking down my sister. I now have little doubt that she exists."

"Yeah, sure." Hawke shook her head with a mystified grin. "We can do that."

"Good." He turned again for the stairs, adjusting the blanket round his waist. "Now if you will excuse me..."

"Maker's breath, you're throwing me out?"

"It is my house. And you may have noticed that I am rather... occupied."

"Right. I'm gone. Have fun." Holding up her hands, Hawke smirked and backed toward the door.

When he reached the landing, Fenris cast a glance back at the entryway. Hawke was not wrong in her suspicions, but nor could he be certain that she was right. Stepping into the bedroom, he stopped short.

Isabela had discarded her sheet, standing outlined before the fire with the book open in one hand. "You should hear this part. Sit."

He moved to the bed, reclining back on his elbows with a quiet grin.

"'And Andraste drew her blade, leveling it at the soldier's throat.'" Isabela mimicked the motion, holding out her free arm in a pantomimed thrust. The firelight flickered over tensing muscle, reflected on the swaying of her ample curves. "'She held him there, weighing him with her gaze.'"

"Come here."

"Aw, but this part is good."

"_Come here._"

She glanced up at him with a wicked smirk before letting the book drop to the carpet. In a single, fluid motion she was on him, crouching over him to trail nibbling kisses along his cheek. His hands traced hungrily along her back, the stirring of the sheet between them unmistakable.

But Isabela sat back, resting her weight against his hips. Her fingers traced now along the patters of his chest. "You know, you do not need words to tell a story. Many sailors have tattoos like this, many of them tell a tale."

"I doubt that their tattoos are made of lyrium."

"Indeed not." She leaned low, running a hand along a particular series of markings on his inner arm. "This one here, perhaps. This looks like a woman, a beautiful and untouched maiden. But this curve here – you see? – this is her lover and he..." Her lips found his ear, the heat of their whisper bringing a laugh from deep in his throat.

"And now every time I look down at my arm, I will have to picture _that_."

"Exactly." Grinning, she nipped at his nose.

Fenris pushed himself upward, spinning to pin her beneath him. "What ever am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few things."


	3. Chapter 3

"The Ghost of Hightown," they called him. For years a pale specter had haunted the abandoned places, walking shadowed streets that belonged only to the unsavory and the unwary. But with each report the Guardsmen found nothing and the tax collector's purses always came away empty. Even the Captain of the Guard herself had declared the tales no more than rumor.

He would have to thank Aveline for that.

After so long, the complaints had all but stopped. It was not acceptance – no, never that – but perhaps it was the best that he could hope for.

Yet, he was not alone in the square tonight. A figure crossed in the opposite direction, the Comtess de Launcet unless he missed his guess. And by the swaying of her steps, the good Comtess was even more drunk than usual. Passing close, Fenris lowered his hood and offered a shallow bow. The woman yelped in wide-eyed terror, scurrying off to regale her husband with tales of fearful spirits.

He watched her go, chuckling quietly to himself. But as he approached his door, he stopped. It was ajar, cracked to reveal a flickering light within. Someone had lay a fire in one of the lower rooms, rooms that even he did not use. Slipping his blade from his back, Fenris felt the warning pain flare behind his skin.

He could summon Hawke, ask for her help once more. A scowl tugged at his lips, not for the shame of the thought – he was not so big a fool as that – but for the impatience. If Danarius had come for him at last, let them end it quickly.

Slowly he shouldered aside the door, stepping softly into the darkened foyer. The light spilled from the library, no doubt Danarius' idea of a jest. Fenris smirked. Perhaps he could spare a moment's delay, pull a tome from the shelf and recite a poem for his former master before ripping the heart from his chest.

With a growl, he kicked the door wide. But he found himself facing only a high-backed chair, turned away toward the fire. As he watched, a long boot propped itself upon the table, crossed a moment later by its mate.

"Huh." Letting the tip of his blade sink to the carpet, Fenris snorted.

"Don't mind me." Isabela did not look up as he stepped round. She licked a finger, turning a page in her book and continuing to read.

"What are you doing here?"

"The _Esaam Atashi._ Do you know it? It has pictures."

Fenris growled, but she turned the book and held it toward him, revealing a detailed drawing of two Qunari locked in a rather compromising grapple. He smirked.

"Right. Of course you do." Tilting her head, she smiled up at him. "For such a stodgy people, you wouldn't expect the Qunari to come up with something so impossibly imaginative."

"Complicated. Not impossible."

Letting her feet fall to the floor, Isabela rose to meet him, running a hand along the lines of his breastplate. But he only plucked the book from beneath her arm, tossing it onto the table.

"Another Qunari book that does not belong to you."

"Ooh, touchy."

"I do not suffer thieves." He turned from her, striding away across the room.

"I made no secret of it. And you didn't seem to mind before."

Fenris glanced over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. "Betrayers, then."

For once she fell silent, sitting back on the table to watch him.

"Why did you return?"

"For Hawke."

He turned from the hearth, his face deep in flickering shadow.

"I... wanted to run. I did. But I... owe her. And I figured that getting rid of the Qunari might be worth a reward or two to the viscount. Late viscount. Even so... Hawke has a way of changing things, of making things happen. If anyone can get me a ship again, it's her."

"I do not doubt."

Her tone grew exasperated. "Four years. _Four years_, Fenris. I've never stayed anywhere for four years. There was the Siren, of course, but I was never one for port. If the scenery bored, I just kept sailing. If I tired of the company, I could simply hire a fresh crew." Her eyes darted round, looking anywhere but at him. "But… I've built a life here."

"I..." He hung his head, watching her from beneath his brows. "I understand."

"And you have to admit, it was quite an entrance."

With a quiet chuckle, he closed the gap between them, pressing her back against the table as he slipped a hand beneath her skirt. "Was it?"

"Mm?" She sighed as his free hand trailed the length of her thigh, gently pushing her knee aside. "Maybe not as good as some."

He breathed into her hair, brushing the whisper down and toward her lips. But Isabela locked her legs hard round his waist, toppling them back across the tabletop, scattering pages and dust. He rose above her, sliding his knees up onto the wood to recover his balance, but she jammed a palm into his chest, rolling them over. Fenris landed hand on his back, shifting awkwardly to pull a tome from beneath his shoulder with a breathless curse. She was astride him now, making quick work of his belt as he stared up at her.

His fingers twined hard found the tender flesh of her arms, pinching as he pushed and rolled them over again.

It was Isabela's turn to hiss. "Ow. Shit."

Landing above her, he leaned in for a mocking kiss, keeping tantalizing just out of reach.

She laughed. "Fine." Tugging at his waist, she pulled the breastplate up and over his head. Her fingers traced the patters on his chest, watching for the moment when he began to relax. His eyes narrowed, breath escaping in a heavy sigh as he leaned low. Isabela jammed a pair of fingers into the space between his ribs.

Fenris growled and they were tumbling again, the world falling away in a crashing rush. They landed hard, the table above them now, in an awkward tangle on the floor before the fire.

Planting her knees to pin him down, Isabela put her nose to his. "I win."

"You cheat."

"You like it."

She let his hand slip free, laughing as it tangled in her hair and pulled her mouth to his. But soon his grip loosened, his touch sliding over her, slowing, tracing, as though convincing himself that she had truly returned. It lingered last upon her cheek, pushing her back to look down at him.

His eyes narrowed. "I, too, have built a... life here. I did not think it possible."

"Hm." Isabela shook her head. "Well good for us, then."

"Yes... good for us."


	4. Chapter 4

"You and this... assassin?" Fenris fell into step beside Isabela as they made their way down the mountain, but his gaze remained fixed to the stranger that walked ahead with Hawke.

"Hm? Zevran?" She smirked. "He was the one who freed me from my late husband, got me the _Siren's Call_. I told you the story."

"You did." He fell silent, watching the other elf through narrowed eyes. _How does anyone know Isabela?_he had said, the slithering chuckle leaving no doubt as to his meaning. Fenris had no illusions about her past – how could he judge when his own had been entirely forgotten? He made no claims on her, had thought himself above such things, but something about this encounter had left him... unsettled.

Zevran seemed to sense the weight of his gaze, his hips swaying as he glanced over his shoulder and spared Fenris a knowing wink. Fenris scowled. The man was utterly ridiculous.

But they had reached the encampment, the Crows that had sent them turning on Hawke as this Zevran had promised they would. They were dispatched with ease and Fenris found himself watching Isabela through the melee. They fought of a form – she and the assassin – all grace and whirling blades. As the last of the attackers fell, they found themselves back-to-back. Zevran pinned one of his daggers between his teeth, using the freed hand to grab Isabela by the wrist and spin her round. His arm braced beneath her as he dipped her back, leaning over her like a dancing lover. He smirked, raising his eyes to Fenris'.

Isabela, though, plucked the blade from his mouth and lay it against his throat. The assassin's grin faltered and it was Fenris' turn to smile.

He unhanded her with great flourish, snatching up his dagger as Isabela tossed it offhandedly into the air. "Ah, Isabela. I did so miss you."

"That's because you have piss-poor aim." She moved to where Hawke was rooting through the camp's supplies, peering over her shoulder with an exaggerated yawn.

"With Nuncio dead, it will not take the Crows long to realize what has happened." Zevran dropped into a half-bow as Hawke straightened. "I thank you for your assistance, Champion, but—"

"That's it? You're leaving?"

He quirked a brow at Isabela. "Unless you can think of another reason for me to stay?"

"I..." Her eyes flickered to Fenris, and Zevran's gaze followed.

Throwing back his head, he laughed. "Oh, Isabela. Let us have a look at him, hm?" Grin widening, he walked round Fenris in a slow circle.

Fenris turned with him, never exposing his back, but this seemed to amuse him all the more.

"Beautiful, certainly – and those tattoos! – but a bit dour by the look of him, yes?"

"I would rather be dour than a prancing _anyud_."*

"Mm, _deild vox factus um homo tremoi_."**

Fenris bit a laugh; the man spoke Arcanum well enough. Still he stood close, lingering a moment longer as their eyes met. Tsking, Zevran turned away and took Isabela's hands in his.

"Alas, I truly must be going. The Crows will know that I am here."

"Tonight?" Her gaze moved past him to the horizon. The sun was still high, but Fenris could see her gauging the distance. They would barely have time to make it back to the city before dark themselves. "They'll find out tonight?"

"Perhaps not. But your Kirkwall is full of eyes and ears. The stares I do not mind so much, nor the occasional scandalized whisper. But – ah – that is a calling card in itself, is it not?"

"So you'll – what? – sleep in a cave? That's very Dalish of you."

He laughed with her. "Perish the thought."

Again, Isabela's eyes flitted to Fenris. "I happen to know someone rather adept at remaining unseen, a place where no one would dare come looking."

He snorted, but it was Hawke who spoke. "If Fenris will put him up, he can come back with us."

"Ah, Champion. You are too kind."

Isabela stepped to Fenris' side, pressing herself against his arm as she leaned to whisper in his ear. For a moment she seemed uncertain, her cheeks darkening. "He is a friend. I can't simply leave him here."

Fenris sighed, nodding to the other elf. "I have rooms. Wine."

"Wine? Marvelous!"

Isabela slung her arm through his as they started toward the city, walking behind as Zevran and the Champion strode ahead, talking laughingly of Hawkes and Crows. Fenris met Isabela's quiet smile with a wondering shake of his head. "I have a feeling we're going to need a lot of it."

* * *

"The haunted look suits you, my friend." Zevran reappeared on the landing above them before darting into another of the upper chambers.

"What is he doing?" Fenris glanced sideways at Isabela, alone in the middle of the main hall.

"You told him he could look around. You probably shouldn't have done that. But I assume he's checking for weaknesses, making sure this place is as safe as you say."

"He doesn't seem the paranoid type."

"You have that in common. Though he'd call it practicality."

Zevran appeared again, grinning down at them before vaulting over the railing to land in an easy crouch at their feet. "And how did you come by such a lovely home?"

"I killed the man who lived here."

Danarius hadn't owned the place, not truly, but Zevran seemed suitably impressed. "And you were simply allowed to keep it?"

"It helps to have important friends."

"Ah, a fact that I know well." He moved to Isabela, slinging an arm round her waist to spin her in a circle. "But it is so dark! So cavernous! What is it that you do living here all alone?"

"I frolic from room to room, choreographing dance routines."

"Truly?" He laughed, spinning Isabela away and offering his arm instead to Fenris.

"No." Fenris turned and strode across the hall. "I'm going to go find that wine."

When he reemerged from the cellars, he found them in the dining hall, Zevran lounging in his chair with boots propped upon the table and Isabela perched beside him. Their heads were bent low in conversation, whatever words they spoke earning Zevran a none-too-gentle punch on the arm. But they trailed off at his approach, sharing a grin as Fenris sat three bottles on the table.

"Fenris doesn't believe in cups."

"And moderation – it is for the birds, yes?" Zevran came smoothly to his feet, picking up one of the bottles to study the label. "Trebbiano? You are a man of excellent taste."

"I ran out of the Aggregio."

"A shame, but a small one." He made as if to sit again, but at a look from Fenris he stepped back, setting down the bottle and bowing to offer him the master's chair. "Tell me, my friend, have you ever seen the vineyards of Navarra?"

"Not that I recall."

"Oh ho! You must see them someday. It is said that they leave the grapes on the vine until they are near to bursting, that a man might pluck them straight from the fields and be drunk on taste alone."

"If it is taste you prefer, I may have some Orlesian white. Though I've seen stronger juice in a child's cup."

Zevran laughed. "Perhaps I was wrong about the Aggregio. Bitterness _and_strength. It suits you."

His own chuckle became a snort. Fenris hesitated, surprised to find himself relaxing. He studied the other elf through narrowed eyes, but Zevran only shrugged and turned away, moving to the far end of the long table to take the chair at the opposite end. After a long moment, Fenris sat himself. He caught the assassin's eye, measuring the distance, before sliding one of the bottles along the length of the table. Zevran grinned, snatching it up with ease.

Isabela was left with the only remaining chair, halfway along one side and directly between them. She smiled to herself, trailing a hand across Fenris shoulders as she slipped behind him to take a bottle for herself. On swaying steps she moved away, taking her seat and crossing her legs.

They drank in silence for a time, her head tilting from one to the other and back again. Drumming her fingers on the vast expanse of empty wood between then, she took a long pull. "So."

Fenris raised his eyes, but it was to Zevran that she looked.

"His tattoos go all over his body, you know. And they glow when he gets angry or... other things..."

"Hm?" The assassin leaned forward, openly intrigued.

Fenris hid a smirk, throwing back his head to take a long swallow. "No."

"Zev's go everywhere too. Maybe you can compare."

"No."

They fell into silence again, the heavy stillness broken only by the clink of glass upon the wood. Fenris watched Isabela surreptitiously over the lip of his bottle, smiling quietly to himself when she became unable to stand it anymore.

"He can do this magical fisting thing. You have to see it."

"'Magical...?'" Zevran's eyebrows rose. "A useful talent."

"That's what I said."

But Fenris only took another drink as her eyes swung to him, watching as her frustration flared. She would not be defeated, but the thought of enduring an awkward silence brought a deep flush to her cheeks. He found he could not help himself.

"You were forged into a living weapon. Zevran was raised as a Crow."

"And?"

"You should spar." She sat back, staring ahead as though she could see it. "Perhaps without shirts... until you... _glisten_."

Zevran slipped from his chair, bending behind her and looking over her shoulder as though he would see it too. "Ah, Isabela. You already have the entire story written in that head yours, yes?"

"And why not?" She tilted her head to look up at him. "It seems like such a _waste_."

He laughed, kicking the chair from beneath her and pulling her to her feet in one swift motion. She spun to face him, but he pressed her backward, sitting her atop the table and turning to Fenris with a wicked smirk. Glancing down, he seemed surprised to find his hand trailing along her leg, fingers wandering idly over the leather and buckles there. "Mm. I do love these boots."

He hid his face against Isabela's neck, lips trailing without touching, his hands hovering chastely above her knees. They braced to either side of her as he leaned forward, ignoring her sigh as he craned his neck to watch Fenris over her shoulder. The sound of Fenris' chair scraping back seemed to echo in the shadowed room but Zevran only smiled.

He took a step back as Fenris approached, ushering him toward Isabela with a little bow. Shaking his head, Fenris chuckled, but Isabela nocked a boot behind his knee, pulling him to her in the assassin's place. He held her gaze, sighing thick as she tilted her head to brush soft lips against his. So familiar – and still so strange that he should find anything familiar, anything that felt like home. He breathed deep of her, but it was to Zevran that he spoke. "What do you want?"

"Simply to see what it is that has finally sated the appetites of our dear Isabela."

"She does have her appetites."

Isabela was watching him curiously. "Unless you do not..."

Fenris let his eyes roam over her, the curve of her back as she arched to meet him, the swell of her breasts, the knees parted to either side of him. And yet her cheeks were flushed, her expression eager and expectant. So tempting to torment her still. He trailed a finger along her chin, down across her necklaces, idly tracing the deep plunge of her tunic.

Behind them, Zevran righted the chair, dragging it nosily toward the table. He fell into it easily, dandling a boot over one arm.

Isabela laughed as Fenris buried an exasperated sigh in her neck. "Your friend is a voyeur."

"Zev is many things, but _never_a voyeur."

He groaned. "Great." But he turned away from her, moving to look down at the other elf.

Zevran blinked up at him.

"You know about these... stories that she writes?"

"Oh, yes. Our Isabela has quite the devious mind, as I recall."

"She does at that." Fenris glanced back at her, still perched on the table's edge. His brows drew low. "Hm."

Zevran opened his mouth as if to speak, but Fenris grabbed him by the collar, pulling him bodily to his feet and covering his mouth with his. He tasted of spice and sweat, filling his senses with the heady tang of acid-tinged musk as the assassin stiffened in surprise. But it lasted only a moment, a chuckle whispering hot across his lips. Behind them, Isabela choked and toppled forward off the table.

She recovered quick enough, slipping close and running her hands over Fenris' arms, pulling him gently but insistently away. "You'd leave me out?"

He pretended not to hear her, one hand tangling in Zevran's hair. When Fenris felt the blade at his throat, he could help but laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it." His voice was thick as he turned and pulled her to him, lifting her with ease.

"Better. Now put me down." Tossing the blade away, she squirmed from his grasp, putting herself between them. She trailed a finger down each man's chest, shaking her head with a bemused smirk.

"Ah, Isabela. Such friends you have." Zevran bent to trail his lips along her neck, one hand sliding up and over her breast as she sighed.

"You're one... to talk." Her hand closed hard round Fenris' belt, keeping him near as the other tugged clumsily at Zevran's tunic. "Off, Zev."

Zevran stepped back just long enough to deftly pull the leathers over his head. Dark whorls marked his skin from shoulder to chest, one long tendril curling past his navel, drawing Fenris' eye lower still. He slipped his fingers beneath his own armor, preparing to pull it off, but Isabela clamped a hand over his.

"Leave it." She shared a knowing smile with Zevran. "It's so... spiky."

Zevran gave Fenris' shoulderpad an experimental flick.

"As you wish, then." Flexing his gauntleted fingers, Fenris moved instead to Isabela's laces, tearing them free with a single swipe.

She tsked. "I lose more good shirts that way."

But Fenris was kissing her now, lips tracing the curves of her as Zevran moved behind her to pull the remains of the cloth from her shoulders. Isabela leaned back against him, rolling her hips as Fenris slipped a hand along her thigh.

As he looked up, his eye caught the other elf's, sharing a warming smirk. Fenris felt the heat rushing along his arms, stiffening the skin, light enveloping his fingers as he help up a hand.

Zevran arched a brow.

Still he held Isabela to him, but Fenris lay his hand now against the other man's cheek. He traced the tattoo there, fingertips disappearing just beneath the skin, Zevran's shudder seeming to echo up his arm.

He did not protest as Fenris moved lower, following the markings, never too deep. Zevran's eyes pinched shut, head thrown back and lips pressed tight, but there was a smile behind his ragged sigh. When he reached his belt, Fenris circled once, twice, phasing through the leather just so. Zevran licked his lips, frozen expectant, and even Isabela's nails were digging hard against Fenris' back.

It was to her that he looked as he thrust his hand home, through leather and flesh alike, deep and deeper still. Zevran jerked with the shock of it, moaning deep, his sudden warmth bursting electric through Fenris' veins. Slowly he pulled his arm free, watching as the other man collapsed back into the chair. His head lolled, muttering dazedly to himself in words that Fenris could not understand.

Turning back to Isabela, he found her mouth hanging open. With a smirk he scooped her up, depositing her back on the table where they had begun. Fenris' lips brushed hers, one still-glowing finger trailing across her breast. "Now. Where were we?"

*Fenris calls Zevran a "fool."  
**"Mm, your voice makes a man tremble."  
(A mishmash of Greek, Latin and things found on the wiki)


End file.
